Sodor Communications Limited
by genericuser22
Summary: Welcome to the offices of Sodor Communications Limited, voted by its staff as one of the worst places to work on the island, second only to the landfill. If any work gets done, it's a miracle. Humanisiation fic, rated T for "words you'd hear from George Carlin's mouth." Might stay as a one-shot, might continue, I don't know.
1. Chapter 1

The rays of the rising sun shot through the window as the office's staff trundled in for another day of work. The huge, cast-iron sign attatched to the exterior proudly proclaimed that this was the office headquarters for Sodor Communications Limited. Well, it would if the sign wasn't horribly rusted and the building it was attatched to looked like a care home for the mentally disabled that had been neglected for thirty years.

Thankfully for its staff, the office looked a lot more modern inside, something that nineteen-year-old Thomas Billington noticed on his first day at work. He sort of forgot it when he realised that the people working inside there were utter tosspots.

The man in question sat at his desk, absent-mindedly sipping a mug of tepid coffee dispensed from the broken and probably hazardous to human life coffee machine. The mug stated in large, faded red letters, "I'm #1!", and the top was covered in an innumerable amount of chips and scratches. Thomas had his actual work open in another tab on his computer, just in case his boss came around, but for now he was perfectly content with browsing through a softcore pornography website. He had another tab open with something more safe-for-work, again in case one of his colleagues happened to have a look at his computer screen.

One colleague in question was Edward Sharp-Stewart, sitting opposite Thomas, who was busily working away typing up a report. His chin was enveloped in stubble, and a pair of thin spectacles sat upon his nose. Like Thomas, he had dark brown hair, but Edward's was greying, and a sizeable bald spot marked the top of his head. Also like Thomas, he was dressed in a pale blue button-up shirt, with a bright yellow tie and black trousers. They sat opposite each other in two rows of cubicles, with four cubicles per row. The set of eight desks bore a limp paper sign designating that this was for the Tidmouth branch of the company. Each seat had a computer, and small personal possessions were scattered around each workspace.

To Thomas's left sat Percival Avon, better known as "Percy" to his colleagues. Percy was suitably attired in a pale green shirt with a red tie, and his clothes were marked by small food stains. Percy was shorter and noticeably pudgier than Thomas, and a few years younger. Being good friends with Thomas, it was not at all surprising that he shared a similarily apathetic work ethic, and he was currently engaged in a flash game.

To Percy's left sat Gordon East and Henry Stanier, two stockily-built men who were dressed in pale blue and green shirts, respectively, with matching red ties. Gordon was taller and stockier, and Henry had quite broad shoulders. They were both doing actual work, thank God, instead of just pissing around and abusing the computers like Thomas and Percy.

At the opposte side of the desks to Thomas sat Toby Wisbech, a frail and old, but kind man with a similar age and appearance to Edward. He had by now come to realise that he was in a dead-end job, but he accepted it. His head was quite rounded at the top, and it was topped with sandy brown hair. Wrinkles lined his face, and his nose was distinctively turned up. His less-than-appealing clothing choice consisted of a brown button-up and a red tie, plus a grey pair of trousers. He, too, was also doing work, currently arranging a spreadsheet.

Sandwiched between Toby and and empty space was Emily Stirling, the only female member of the Tidmouth team. Well, it wasn't a "team" per se. It was more of a "group of people lumped together because they fought the least in the office". Her head was framed by locks of straight, black hair that ran over her shoulders and down her back. She was dressed in a flowing, dark green dress and a set of yellow pearls around her neck.

Suddenly, the door banged open and James Hughes strutted in. Upon his entrance, the whole of the cubicles groaned inwardly, or audibly in Percy's case. He had a head of immaculately combed jet-black hair, given a sheen thanks to a copious amount of hair gel, and he was dressed in a red shirt with a black tie. The way he walked and the look on his face exulted a feeling of pure anger.

Deliberately trying to press James' buttons, Edward spoke up.

"Morning, James," he greeted with a shit-eating grin on his face, "did you have any trouble getting here today?"

"The train was late! Again!" he answered through gritted teeth. He scowled at Edward in such a way that Toby thought they'd have first-degree murder on their hands.

"And whose fault was it?" asked Gordon, joining in the fun.

"The bloody train company!" replied James.

"Or," probed Percy innocently, "did you hold off getting up here because you saw a certain female and wanted a little chat?"

"No!" yelled James, again, but his voice faltered slightly, and some of the anger seemed to escape him.

Thomas saw the chance and took it. "James," he said with a smug smile on his face, "if you really like Molly that much, do you want me to-"

"Piss off, Thomas. Besides, when could you ever-"

"Excuse me?" he replied, "I think this is sufficient evidence." Thomas held up a framed photo of a girl, dressed in lavender and pale pink, pictured with him. It bore the caption "Valentine's Day 2015".

"So he's not denying it, then," remarked Henry.

"Can it, Henry."

"Hey!" said Percy in mock offence, "What did Henry do to you?"

James said nothing. After a long silence, he sat down, defeated. He took out his anger at being ridiculed by his colleagues on his computer equipment, so nobody was surprised when a fountain of curses erupted from James' mouth.

"Well done, mate." deadpanned Percy, not looking up from his computer.

"Shut up, fatty." James snarled.

Hearing what he thought was footsteps, Thomas instinctively closed his suggestive material and stood up in his cubicle. Looking around the office, though, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Leonard Gronk, nicknamed "Diesel" after a rumour spread that he once got high by inhaling petroleum, was lazily puffing on an e-cigarette at another set of desks. Stafford York, who sat near the door and was the office's receptionist (if it needed one, anyway), and a rumoured heroin addict, was tapping his fingers on his desk. Two young, new interns were seated not too far away from Thomas's desk, called Bill and Ben Cornish, were sharing a computer and playing a game instead of work.

Seeing that someone else instead of his failure of a friend shared a similar distaste for work, the office's head slacker and attention-deficit extraordinaire got up from his desk and walked over.

"Mornin', B and B. Been given an ASBO today yet?"

"Who's he, Ben?" said Bill, faking confusion, with his thick Brummie accent making his speech near-incomprehensible.

"I dunno, Bill," came his twin's reply, "but he looks bent."

"Maybe it's the tie. Only a proper bender would wear that."

"Ey, you cheeky twats, you can't talk!" replied Thomas. "You both look like you work for the bloody Yellow Submarine!"

Thomas returned to his own desk to type up another line of a Microsoft Word document. Fortunately for him and unfortunately for the rest of the office, he returned to see a squabble turn into something serious.

"Gimme my phone back, fatarse!" yelled James, who was reaching over the top of his cubicle, grasping his hands in the vague direction of Percy.

"Admit that you're a pretentious, self-absorbed twat and maybe I'll consider it." Percy replied. "Ooh, who's this, James? I didn't know-"

"Give it back!" James kneeled on his desk, disturbing his possesions and computer, reaching his hand into Percy's cubicle. Edward could faintly be heard muttering "I didn't sign up for this."

"Lads, could you calm down?" said Toby, who was trying and failing to concentrate.

"Percy," said Emily, "give soppy-arse his phone back before I do it meself."

"Not unless he apologises for takin' the piss out of my late mum and calling my girlfriend a whale." The desk gasped in unison. James was a dick, that was well known, but he was never known to have gone _that_ far.

"James, apologise," said Gordon, "or we aren't getting you anything for your birthday."

James turned around, still dangling his hand into Percy's cubicle. "You what?"

"And," Henry added with a grin, "we'll make sure to remind everyone of that time you nearly drowned in a tar pit."

James widened his eyes in shock. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, yes, we would."

James looked around. He was getting more and more flustered as everyone else looked at him with a shit-eating grin.

" _GIVE IT_!" James climbed over the top of the cubicles, demolishing his computer and part of the thin wall in the process. He flopped onto Percy's desk, grabbing his phone with one hand and his colleague's throat with the other.

"Jesus Christ!" yelled Emily, while Edward uttered every curse word under the sun. Toby sprung up in an attempt to stop James from choking Percy to death. Thomas videoed the whole confrontation, intending to upload it to YouTube later, while Henry and Gordon just sat there and ignored the whole thing.

" _What in the name of all that's holy is going on_?!" yelled a short man with broad shoulders, and dressed in a dark green shirt, standing up from his desk. Meanwhile, Toby and Edward had managed to prise James off Percy and calm him down.

"Oh, hi, Duck." said Henry over the top of his cubicle.

"Don't call me that! Just because I was mauled by a duck on a company outing to Wales doesn't mean it's my name!"

"Fine, _Montague_. Anyway, things are going fine. Nothing to worry about."

Montague looked skeptical, but when he saw James standing up, grinning with way too much enthusiasm (in reality he had been told to by Edward), he was satisfied.

Everyone turned to James, except Thomas, who was making sure Percy wasn't dead and taking pictures of him to post on Facebook, and Percy himself, who was struggling to breathe.

"What. The. Hell. Was. That. For?" said Edward, scowling. "I don't give a rat's arse if you don't want to work, but don't disturbe the others."

"Since when were _you_ in charge?"

"Because I'm the most competent. Now shut up and don't try to kill anyone again."

James complied and sat back down at his desk, attempting to get his damaged computer to work.

"Just another day at the office." muttered Thomas.

 **A/N: Doing a parody fic, because I want to. Doing a humanisation fic, because why the hell not. I'm also probably giving some fresh content to the stories on this goddamned site.**

 **genericuser22 out!**


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas stumbled into work late the next morning. Far too late, as people were actually working. "Aye, g'mornin', Thomas." greeted Donald and Douglas McIntosh in unison. They were twins, hailing from the Scottish highlands and preferred dressing in jet-black suits as opposed to the technicolour clothing choice of the rest of the office. They sort of resembled the thugs you'd see in the poor parts of Glasgow, but instead of slicing your face open they'd rather buy you a drink at the local pub.

"Morning, twins." Thomas mumbled before staggering off. By the time he reached his cubicle, James was already arguing with someone.

No surprise there.

"What I'm saying is, Toad," said James, in his slight Cockney accent (which made zero sense, considering he was from Lancashire), "is that I don't need any sodding help!"

"Oh," said Toad, real name Rupert Western, "does that explain why you've got the help screen up?" Toad gained his nickname after eating a frog, whole, on a company-arranged camping trip. It was meant to clear everybody's minds and give them fresh air, and it resulted in at least one person being hospitalised and gave everybody else food poisoning courtesy of Henry's awful cooking. Toad was paralysed from the waist down after an accident in his childhood, and he was confined to a custom-made slate grey and white wheelchair, equipped with a brake handle and a red lamp on the back.

"Shut up, Toad." replied James, turning back to his computer. Thomas trudged around the side of his cubicle and slumped into his swivel chair.

Percy looked up. "You're late today, mate."

"You think?" Thomas replied, with bags under his eyes and a noticeable slowness in his speech. He switched on his computer by lazily pushing the power button, before sitting back and letting out a pained sigh.

"You know," he said, turning to Percy, "no amount of coffee will get you wide and awake. In fact, I think too much has a bad effect."

"How much did you drink, Thomas?" asked Toby, the older man's voice muffled by the cubicle walls.

"Thirty-seven cups."

Toby paused. "Should we get you to hospital?"

"No, mate, I'm fine." mumbled Thomas.

"Doesn't sound it to me." said James, who had bought a new laptop after killing his computer the day before.

"Shut it, James." replied Thomas. "Anyway, you're lucky to still have your job after yesterday."

James scoffed. "As if! It's not like the boss saw anything-"

The door opened.

"Speak o' tha devil." muttered Emily.

Nobody made a sound. Except Percy, who farted thanks to a hazardous amount of curry last night, drawing in chuckles from other office workers and causing Stafford to burst out in laughter. The manager of SCL was Topham Hatt (strange name, I know), who paid a sizeable amount of money to have "Sir" legally added to the front of his name. Which everyone ignored. He was colloquially known by many names; "the Fat Controller", drawing from his large size and the fact that he supervised the office (at least, he tried to), "Fatass" and "Fatso" (no prizes for guessing why), and several more that can't be mentioned here for profanity.

Figure them out yourself.

Anyway, he had a habit of punishing employees almost on a daily basis (although he never fired anyone, apart from Diesel, and even _he_ was rehired after two weeks. Partially because Hatt was an idiot, and partially because SCL employed literally all the intellectuals on the island and they needed all the competent workers they could find).

Hatt strolled over to the Tidmouth desks,accompanied by his two supervisors, before placing his large hands on James' shoulders. The young man in question didn't move an inch.

"So, James," he started, "I see that you got into a bit of trouble yesterday."

"You could say that, sir." replied James, Cockney accent becoming clearer. Everybody new that James sounded more Cockney under pressure.

"Mm. You nearly killed Percy."

"It was sort of his fault."

"Really?"

"He stole my phone, sir."

"And does that qualify as a valid reason for strangling him?"

"No, not really. He was being annoying," James said, looking through the destroyed section of the connecting wall at Percy, "as per usual."

"Right," Hatt said, this time addressing the whole office, "I have noticed that the quality of work has been steadily dropping. It might be that you've all been working hard for too long and are out of steam," which was met with a few scattered comments of "lies", "so I have contacted the company board and they have agreed to let you lot go on another trip!"

There was a pause.

"I bloody hope it isn't like that camping trip we had last time." said Diesel.

"Aye," agreed Donald, "I got food poisonin' and Douggie here broke his ankle!"

"I swear I saw a grizzly bear at one point..." said Henry.

"Henry, you idiot," said Gordon, turning to his friend, "you were probably hallucinating from inhaling pine needles."

"Okay, I admit the last trip didn't go well," said Hatt, interrupting the awful memories flooding back, "but this time I am sure nothing will go wrong. At least, I hope!" he added with a nervous smile.

"So, where _are_ we going?" asked Edward, turning around in his seat.

Hatt pulled out a scrunched up piece of paper, before smoothing it out and squinting at it.

"Knapford Heights Amusement Park!" he replied with a smile.

Another pause.

"Didn't someone die there?" asked Henry, raising one eyebrow.

"I can't handle Percy vomiting on me again." muttered Thomas, reminiscing (well, if you call being covered in someone's expelled stomach acid 'reminiscing') about Percy undercooking the food when he attempted to make dinner for the Tidmouth crew.

"Theme park food always tastes like dog shi-"

"OKAY!" yelled Hatt, silencing everyone in the room. "Whenever we go on trips, something _always_ cocks up! But this time, I promise that things will go to plan!"

...

"So what _is_ the plan, then?" asked a short man in a light grey shirt and red shorts, crossing his arms impatiently.

"Well, Stanley," replied Toby, "we get onto our respective minibuses and we go to the park. Simple!"

"Then why are _you_ telling us what to do?" asked Bill.

"Because Fatso asked me to."

"Why not me?" asked James.

"James, if someone put you in a leadership role, by this point at least one person would have died and another would be missing."

The entirety of the office's staff stood outside their place of work, milling around and seeing which parts of the foundations were closest to crumbling away and killing everyone in a fifty metre radius. A small group of people with slicked-back, black hair huddled around a bin, each with a cigarette in hand. A group of seven very short men sat around a rotting wooden picnic table playing cards, and five of them had very pronounced Welsh accents.

Toby stood up on a small, wooden stool and cleared his throat, gradually getting the crowd's attention.

"Alright, so here's-"

"Can't hear you, mate." called a West Country voice from the back of the crowd.

"Shut it, Oliver." said Toby, to a man in green standing next to Toad.

"As I was saying," he continued, louder this time, "here's what we're going to do. Each of us are in groups of eight, and each group has a minibus that'll take us to the park." Toby looked up from his sheet of paper. "Is that clear?" A dull chorus of "yeah's" resonated from the crowd.

"Alright, remember your minibus numbers. Right, the Tidmouth lot, we're on Bus 1." Toby said, waving his hand in the direction of Thomas, Henry, Gordon, James, Percy and Emily. Toby looked up. "Wait, where's Edward?"

"Gone for a-" said Percy, before he was cut off by Emily. "He's gone ta get our coach."

"Oh, right."

"Smoking hazards," Toby said, looking up at the cigarette addicts huddled around the bin, "you're on Bus 2. Boco'll be driving, he's gone to get your bus."

"Why?" asked a woman dressed in a black and yellow striped shirt.

"Because, Mavis," said Toby, "he's the most likely to be sober." He cleared his throat again. "Right, the Skarloey lot, you're on Bus 3." He pointed at the short men, as one dressed in a dark red muttered "why are we named after me?"

"Who's getting our bus, then?" asked Peter Sam, the tallest of the group and dressed in dark green.

"Duncan."

"That's not turning up, then." muttered a man dressed in a vermillion button-up.

"He's probably been pulled over by now, Rheneas." said Skarloey, chuckling.

"You two have such weird names, you know." said an angry-looking man in dark blue.

"Our parents were drunk when signing our birth certificates, Handel."

Toby spoke up again.

"Donald, Douglas, Oliver, Toad, Molly, Rosie and Arthur," he read out, pointing to each person in turn, the last three dressed in yellow, lavender, and dark red, "you're on Bus 4 with Duck, he's gone to fetch your bus."

This continued until 7 buses-that-hadn't-arrived-yet had been filled. Toby looked up again. "Has everyone got a bus?"

Nobody raised their hand.

"Good." Toby hopped down from the makeshift podium as the chatter returned.

"What now?" asked a tall, grumpy-looking man in olive green who looked like he never got any sleep.

"We wait, Cranky. Just be patient, mate."

...

It took nearly two hours for the conga line of minibuses to arrive at the office, and Edward stepped down from the first bus shaking with rage.

"Motherf****** s***** traffic wouldn't f****** let us through because it's f****** filled with f****** c****-"

"Edward, mate, calm down." said Toby, who knew full well that the man in blue had a problem with road rage.

A man in yellow stepped out of the third bus' doors, triumphantly swaggering over to the rest of the Skarloey group.

"How many times did you break the speed limit, Duncan?" asked a short man in orange overalls.

"None, Rusty!" Duncan replied with a look that screamed "would this face lie to you?".

"Bollocks." he replied, before turning to the buses. "Oi! Duck!" he yelled, his West Country accent permeating the air.

"What?", the man in green replied.

"How did Duncan drive?"

"He nearly killed Edward."

Rusty turned back to Duncan. "I rest my case."

Toby spoke up again. "Right, remember what buses you're on, get on, sit down, and shut up!"

Predictably, pandemonium ensued, but after half an hour, everyone had sat down and, two and a half hours late, they left.

As the line of buses sputtered away from the office and towards the motorway, a breathless teenager with noticeable buck teeth and a ridiculous orange jumpsuit emblazoned with "Billy" on it ran out the front doors of the building.

"Wait for me, lads!" he yelled, coming to a stop at the kerb and just in time to see the last bus turn a corner.

He stood there, staring down the road and hoping that the rest of the staff noticed his absence and turned around.

After ten minutes, they still hadn't returned.

"Piss."

 **"Wow," I hear you say, "what a cop-out, abandoning the office premise."**

 **Well, hypothetical reader, you're exactly right, but this adventure will continue.**

 **genericuser22 out!**


	3. Chapter 3

" _ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?_ "

"Eddie, mate, _calm down_."

Edward span around in his seat, his thin spectacles nearly falling off his nose.

"Do you want to drive through this traffic?!" he yelled at James, who sat on the back row.

"Not really." replied Percy.

The procession of minibuses had stopped in heavy traffic about five minutes into the journey. The distance from the office, on the eastern side of Vicarstown, to the amusement park, around 5 minutes north of Knapford, was around seventy miles. The average journey would take about an hour and a half to two hours by car, and the group had ground to a halt two miles in.

"Why didn't we just take the train?" moaned Thomas, who had taken to carving obscene words on the window with the seatbelt prong.

"Thomas," said Emily, who had taken out a book to pass the time, "you an' I both know from experience tha' you can' trust the train on this godforsaken island."

"Fair point," replied Thomas, turning around, "but would you rather be on the run-down, dirty, probably HIV-ridden train, or be stuck in a hot, sweaty minibus in traffic?"

"Eddie, open a window, will you?" said Henry, face red and hair dripping with sweat. He had bagsied shotgun, while Thomas and Percy sat behind him and Edward, with Gordon and Toby behind them, and James and Emily at the back.

"The windows are broken, I've checked."

"Then turn on-"

"Fatty's charging us for the fuel, so no air conditioning."

The traffic still wasn't moving. Edward drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Meanwhile, Percy picked up the metal prong of his seatbelt and began stabbing Thomas in the side.

"Ow!" he yelled. "Stop it!"

"Not until we move."

"Eddie, step on it!" shouted Thomas, tapping the driver's seat.

" _Come on!_ " yelled Edward shaking a fist. Suddenly, a metallic _thump_ rang out inside the minibus.

"What was that?" asked Toby, concerned.

"I.. don't know." said Edward, rubbing his hand.

"Did you hit your hand, Ed?" asked Emily, looking up from her spot at the back.

"Yeah, I think I-"

All at once, the driver's side door fell off its hinges and clanged onto the tarmac, shattering the glass. Edward looked out, bewildered, as other drivers drove around it.

"Well, at least there's a draught now." said Henry dryly.

Duck's bus stopped alongside Edward's, and Oliver leaned out his window.

"Trouble there?" he said with a grin.

"No, we're perfectly fine." Edward spat, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Doesn't look it."

"Do you wan' a seat in our bus, Eddie?" taunted Donald, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"There's plenty of-" Douglas began.

He spoke too soon.

A painful, groaning noise emitted from the engine in Duck's minibus, sounding as if it was haemorrhaging bits of metal onto the ground. The bus stopped, and a second later the bonnet lid flew up and came to a rest on the windshield, as greyish-blue smoke poured out of the engine.

"On second thoughts, can we get in yours?"

...

"Arthur, stop elbowing me in the face!"

"Its not my fault our bus decided to commit suidice on us, Percy!" cried Arthur.

"You know, Oliver, it's quite hard for me to drive when you're straddling the gear stick." Edward said. "And it's not the most comfortable of situations when I'm forced to put my hand near your gentleman's sausage when I want to change gears."

The minibus, which usually only had seats for eight people, now had sixteen crammed inside. Toad, on account of being a cripple, was given his own seat at the back. Rosie, Molly, and Emily shared a single seat next to Toad, while James was wedged into the seats infront with Gordon, Duck and Donald. Thomas and Percy were squashed in next to Arthur and Toby, while Douglas and Oliver had to make do sitting with Edward and Henry up front.

"This has to be the single most uncomfortable car journey I've ever been in." muttered James, his voice muffled by the unsafe amount of people in the vehicle.

"What, worse than when you had to sit in Henry's diahrrea after he shat himself coming back from Ibiza?" said Gordon, unable to turn his head around as Donald's bum sat on his shoulder.

"I did _not_ shit myself!" cried Henry from the front.

"You bloody well did!" replied Gordon, laughing despite being in his idea of hell. "You had lunch from that dodgy street vendor outside the airport."

"Oh, I remember now!" said James, craning his head past Duck's legs to see Gordon. "He kept complaining about his sore stomach on the plane, and in the car coming back from Birmingham Airport he shat himself." He mimicked retching at the memory. "My best trousers were covered in Henry's shit."

"I don't feel well." muttered Percy.

"Lads, can you not talk about excrement right now?" said Toby.

"Toby, mate, you wash your clothes in excrement." returned James, drawing in a laugh from others in the bus.

"Toby's right, James." said Molly. "We don't want anyone throwing up."

"Thomas, can you stop digging your elbow into my stomach?" said Percy.

"No-one's going to throw up, Moll." replied James, turning around in his seat and nearly making Duck fall off his spot on the younger man's knee.

"Yeah, but it's really hot and sticky in here." griped Rosie.

"Guys, I don't feel well!" cried Percy.

"Well, it's high summer and there's sixteen people stuck in here, what did you think would-"

James was rudely interrupted by the sound of Percy's vomit splattering over Thomas, Toby and Arthur and coating the seats in acidic, half-dissolved porridge.

" _JESUS!_ " screamed James, while Edward vomited out of the absent driver-side door.

"QUICK! GET OUT! _GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!_ " yelled Henry, who had a borderline phobia of vomit, and all eight doors of the bus opened to let out the smell. Edward, with vomit still dribbling out of his mouth, motored the bus onto the hard shoulder, nearly hitting the Skarloey group's bus in the process. The bus drove straight into a sign, but with not enough damage to knock out the bus, as fifteen hot, sweaty and smelly people barrelled out of the doors.

"What was that for?!" screamed Thomas at Percy, vomit dripping off his jeans.

"I told you I didn't feel well."

"It's not your fault." said Toby, after retching into a nearby bush. "It's probably the heat."

"Then why did he not get out of the way?" asked a fuming Arthur, who had vomit all down his back.

"Because there was-" Percy began, before pausing and vomiting into the gutter. "There was no room to move."

"Okay, people," said Edward, as the rest of the group recovered, "calm ourselves down. It's just a bit of sick."

"How can I?" asked Gordon, who staggered over from the kerb. "I have the image of Percy expelling his stomach acid over the seats permanently engrained into my mind."

"We'll just have to get back in and hope that the traffic clears up."

"What, and sit on the bile-covered seats?" asked Thomas, who caught the whiff of vomit again and coughed into the ground.

"No, we'll avoid them."

"How?"

...

"This is even worse."

With the second row of seats cleared out, Edward, Douglas, Henry, and Oliver stayed up front. Toad and the girls stayed at the back, but Thomas, Gordon, James, Percy, Toby, Duck, Donald and Arthur were crammed into the third row. There was barely any room to breathe, let alone move. The horrifyingly strong smell of Percy's vomit stunk out the whole bus, but there was nothing they could have done. Thankfully, the traffic cleared up, and the group was making good time. Finally.

...

The rest of the buses were parked up on the side of a country road, and their occupants were milling around further up the road. Skarloey, who had been appointed leader after the most competent people in the office went missing after Percy's little accident, stood further up the road, waiting for the rest to arrive. Suddenly, a bus veered around a corner at a probably unsafe speed, missing a door and carrying sixteen screaming people. It braked hard, lurching forwards on its suspension before coming to a stop. The entirety of the bus' passengers scrambled out of the doors (well, Toad was helped into his wheelchair), and five of them ran into the bushes to vomit.

"That," said Gordon, stepping out of the driver's seat with pride, "is how you make up for lost time!"

"I've never been so fast in my life." muttered Edward, as he staggered back from the bushes.

"Remind me to take Gordon's driver's license off him when we get back." said James, getting up from his knees as Edward stumbled over from the bus. Skarloey looked up. "Oh, thank God you're here," the old Welshman said, "you're just in time to help us, boyo!"

"Help?" asked Edward. "Why?"

"Down the road, look!" Skarloey said, gesturing wildly down the narrow lane. Edward complied and walked down it under the shade of the trees. It was quite calming, after trying to get his colleagues back under control when James threatened to walk home. Birds were chirping, leaves were rustling, the road was flooded, rabbits scurried abou-

Wait, the road was flooded?

Edward looked down just in time to see a large ford crossing the road. The water level was about a metre, shown by the post embedded in the ground that looked like it was about to be swept away.

"Oh, God."

 **Yay! More fun! More cringe! More idiocy!**

 **Will they get to the park? Who knows! Will someone die? Probably!**

 **genericuser22 out!**


	4. Chapter 4

"James, are you sure you know how to ford a river?"

"Of course I do, Duck. You just drive straight through it. Pedal to the metal!"

"Don't say that again." muttered Edward.

"Well," continued Duck, "I'm just a little concerned by the fact that our bus is missing a door."

"As long as we drive quickly, the open door means nothing."

"Really?" said Donald. "An' where did ye get tha' information?"

"I was in the army for five years."

"Don't remember you telling us that, James." said Thomas with a smug grin.

"I just didn't have the time."

"Like you didn't have tha time ta get me a Christmas present?" asked Emily innocently.

James turned around in his seat. "Look, that time I didn't know what to get you."

"Don't change the subject, James." said Gordon. "Were you really in the army or not?"

"Yes!"

"He hesitated." said Percy.

"What about the time you were terrified of a Rottweiler at Crovan's Gate park?" asked Henry. "Doesn't sound like a soldier to me."

"It tried to maul me!" James defended.

"It bloody well didn't!" laughed Oliver. "It only wanted to-"

"Are we going to move or what?" asked Toby, who was getting impatient.

"Ah, yes." replied James. "The ford. Of course."

The bus sat before the ford, with its engine running, with Thomas, Edward, Henry, Gordon, Percy, Toby, Emily, Donald, Douglas, Oliver and Duck as passengers. James had volunteered to drive, something he was now regretting. Toad, Rosie, Molly and Arthur had got off so the bus wasn't too heavy, and because Toad was in danger of drowning.

"Alright," James said, "I'm going to start driving now."

"Really? It took so long." replied Percy.

"Shut it. Anyway, I suggest you stand up."

"What?" asked Edward, bewildered. "Why?"

"It's too deep to sit down."

"So how are you driving?" asked Gordon. "Because the way you're putting this, it seems you're going to drown here."

"I hope he does." muttered Percy.

"Aha!" cried James. "But that's where you're wrong!" He bent down and retrieved a brick and some string from the footwell, holding it up. "I've taken a brick, and I'm going to hold down the throttle with it while steering!"

There was an uneasy pause.

"Well," said Thomas, "looks like I'm going to die here. What do you all want on your gravestones before we all drown courtesy of James' idiocy?"

" _Can we just go?!_ " yelled Toby.

"Okay, okay!" Everyone in the vehicle stood up on their seats, bending their backs along the roof.

"If I'm going to die here, it sure as hell won't be a comfortable death." said Duck.

"Look, stop moaning, it's either we die drowning or we just man up and cross it!"

"You know best, I suppose." muttered Henry. "If we both die, I'll kill you again in hell."

"Okay!" shouted James. "I am dropping the brick! Hold on to the roof handles!" Having already tied the string, and holding up the brick slightly, he let go of it and stood up as the bus lurched forwards. In fact, James' head smacked into the roof of the car with such speed that he was knocked out cold, and Henry just caught his limped, unconscious body and contemplated dropping him before wrapping one arm around him and holding tight and gripping the steering wheel with the other. With everybody screaming, the bus plunged into the ford as water rushed over the windshield and in through the missing door. The engine roared, spluttered for a second, then roared again as it drove through the water.

" _I'm going to drown!_ " cried Percy, as the level of water rose so much that he could have licked the surface, and it completely enveloped the unconscious James. The bus broke through the surface on the other side, and the water level receded, as Henry dropped James' body to untie the brick.

" _STOP THE BUS!_ " yelled Duck, barely audible over everyone screaming.

"Got it!" cried Henry, chucking the brick out of the door and slamming the brake pedal. Without seatbelts, everyone was nearly knocked off their feet, but eventually they got down and out of the bus safely.

"How we did that without stranding the bus, I'll never know." said Edward, as Donald staggered over from the bus, his clothes dripping.

"Pure luck, mate."

"Well," said Henry, "at least the bus is still functional."

"And my clothes and the seats aren't covered in Percy's vomit anymore." mumbled Thomas, coughing up water.

"Yeah, but they're covered in filthy river water now, lad." remarked Douglas.

"And thank God that James isn't awake to make some stupid 'witty' remark." said Percy, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Speaking of the cocky twat," began Gordon, "where is he?"

"There." replied Henry, pointing to James' slumped body on the kerb.

"Is he dead?" asked Oliver.

"No, just uncoscious."

"Well," said Duck, "at least nobody died."

"I guess there's that." replied Edward. He turned to face the rest of the group on the other side of the river.

"Your turn!"

...

Eventually, five of the six buses present had crossed the ford, and James remained the only person to actually get injured. All that was left was one bus, parked up on the kerb and the only one with roof bars fitted.

Only two people were left; Toad and a tallish man dressed from head to toe in black and a remarkably square head. Neville had volunteered to be the one that ferried Toad across, and using the bus' roof bars, some strong rope, and a spare wheelchair, Henry had devised a plan.

"I'm fairly certain this isn't safe." said Toad, strapped into his wheelchair and atop the bus' roof.

"Don't worry, mate!" called Neville. "These ropes are strong enough to hold you in place."

"I doubt it."

"Are you alright, Toad?" called Oliver from across the river.

"Yep, fine, mate!"

"He doesn't look safe ta me." said Emily.

"I'm sure he's going to be fine." said Edward. "But I do have my doubts about Henry's prowess when it comes to problem solving. In which case, that reminds me." He turned around and called to him. "Henry!"

"What?"

"If Toad falls off, you're getting him, alright?"

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one who designed the holding system and is probably going to be responsible for his death!"

"Oh. Okay, fine."

Edward turned around to face Toad and Neville. "Alright, lads, you're ready to go!" He gave them the thumbs-up and Neville climbed into the driver's seat. The engine burped slightly, before starting up and growling. Neville tied the brick, which was soaking wet and filthy with mud by now, to the accelerator pedal and stood up on the seat. Letting go of the brick, he grabbed the wheel as the bus shot forwards.

Toad gripped the sides of his temporary wheelchair (he had left his custom one at home) as the bus broke the surface of the water, sending ripples across the ford. They were making good progress, when suddenly one of the bus' front wheels struck a large rock, swinging the back end of the bus around. The ropes holding Toad's wheelchair ripped in half, catapulting him over the bonnet and chucking him into the ford to everyone's gasps.

" _ **TOAD!**_ " screamed Oliver, sprinting into the water and wading over to help his friend. Neville had stopped the bus in time, and thankfully the wheelchair had landed on its wheels.

"I'm alri-"

Oliver immediately scooped up Toad from his wheelchair and carried him over to dry land, before dropping him slowly and compressing his chest.

"I don't need CPR, for God's sake!" Toad shouted. "I'm fine!"

"Oh, God, Toad, I was so worried!" said Oliver, wide-eyed.

"Oliver, calm down." said Rheneas, walking over. "Are your legs hurt, boyo?"

"I can't even feel my legs, let alone know if they hurt!"

Oliver dropped to his knees. " _We need to get you to hospital!_ "

"I haven't felt my legs since I was ran over by that train twenty years ago, you nonce!"

Edward turned to Donald. "Does Oliver get this stupid when he's scared?"

"Yep." came the Scotsman's reply. "He once ran halfway to Tidmouth when he read a fake news article about War Of The Worlds and thought it was real."

Duck waded into the water to get Toad's wheelchair, and came back with a twisted pile of metal and fabric, coated in mud and dripping with river water. The wheels had been crushed, and the steel rods had been bent and warped by the impact.

"Well, Toad's got no way of getting around now." Edward said. He turned to Neville, who had managed to drive the bus out of the river and onto the road.

"Nev, did you bring more than one wheelchair?"

"Yeah, I think I did." He walked over to one of the buses and pulled out a second wheelchair from the boot. It was bright pink, was adorned with stickers and looked as if it used to belong to a five-year-old.

"Neville," said Gordon, "where did you get that from?"

"eBay."

"For how much?" asked James, who had come around by now.

"Twenty quid."

" _Really_?" asked Toby. "Is it faulty?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Alright," said Edward, "Toad, you'll have to make do with this. I know you'll look like a paedo, but if you want to get around the park you'll have to use this."

"Fine."

There was a pause.

"Can we get going, then?" said Toby.

 **No, I didn't just try to kill off Toad. Stay tuned for the next chapter!**

 **genericuser22 out!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Well, we're here."

The procession of buses pulled to a stop at Knapford Heights Amusement Park, in its less-than-appealing parking lot. Weeds sprouted through the cracks in the tarmac, and the white lines that marked out the spaces were barely visible. Groups of flowers planted around the perimeter of the car park looked like they had been doused in hydrochloric acid instead of fertiliser. Several cars were scattered around, but none of them were anything particularly fancy, like a Jaguar or a Mercedes. It looked quite busy, as this was the only theme park on the island, and the nearest one on the mainland was the best part of a hundred miles away.

The doors of the buses opened and its passengers disembarked, each casting a good look around the lot.

"And it only took four hours." said James, stretching his back.

"Thanks to crappy traffic and that flood." said Oliver, taking a drink from a small canteen he had brought with him.

Toby reached into the back of one of the minbuses and returned with the same wooden stool he had used that morning. He stood up on it, nearly falling back, but he regained his posture and cleared his throat. He whipped out a crumpled up piece of paper with 'trip instructions' hastily scrawled on it, straightening it out and attempting to decipher Hatt's notoriously poor handwriting.

"Righto, get into groups of four minimum, get back here before dark, don't break the park rules-"

"Where _are_ the park rules?" asked Edward.

"Hell if I know. Probably at the front gates. Anyway, these buses are going back to Vicarstown at eight in the evening," Toby said, before pausing and checking his wristwatch, "and right now it's two in the afternoon."

"So we've got six hours, then?" asked Henry, standing with his arms crossed.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Can we go in now?" asked Handel impatiently.

"No, you daft prat." Toby deadpanned, reaching into his back pocket and retrieving several dozen small tickets. "You need your tickets first."

The group shuffled forwards, as Toby handed out tickets to each person that passed him. There were a few "cheers, mate"'s uttered by some of the more respectful of his colleagues, but most took their tickets without a word and made their way to the front gates.

"Welcome to Knapford Heights, how may I help you?" droned a young Welshman with a crutch in an olive green polo shirt that had the park's logo stitched on. He sat in a small booth, with the glass just dirty enough to set off someone's mild OCD, but not enough to get the place shut down.

"Yeah, just handi-" said Peter Sam, who got to the gates first, before looking up and widening his eyes. " _Smudger?_ " he said with surprise.

" _Stuart?_ " he replied, standing up on his crutch. "Long time, no see."

"My name's Peter Sam now. Changed it. So this is where you ended up after getting fired from working at that pub!"

"I know." he said with a smirk. "Quite the dump, isn't it?"

"Doesn't look it." he turned to the rest of his group. "Handel! Remember Smudger?"

Handel strutted over, peering into the booth. "Yeah, I do," he said, nodding, "is he still a cripple?"

"Yep. Anyway, how's Dukey these days?"

"Kicked it." Handel replied bluntly.

"Really?" Smudger said incredulously. "When?"

"Years ago." Peter Sam replied. "After the pub closed down, he joined us and we went to work in an office with these nutsacks." He jabbed his thumb behind him for emphasis. "He retired not long after and he went to live in a retirement home."

"Who're they?" Smudger asked, craning his head to get a better look down the line.

"Workmates. Half of them do actual work and the rest just piss around. A good three-quarters of them are complete dickheads."

" _Get a move on!_ " yelled James from down the line.

"Exhibit A." Peter Sam said, turning back to Smudger.

"We are, mate!" shouted Handel back down the line. "Just talking to an old friend!"

He turned back to Smudger. "Well, nice talking to you again, mate. See ya."

"See you too, mate."

The group entered the park through the gates and sat down on a poorly-painted, rotting wooden bench.

"Who'd of thought it," said Peter Sam, "that Smudger works here!"

"I thought he was locked in the basement after he destroyed the pub's kitchen." said Handel, confused.

"He'd be dead if that were true."

"How?" asked Rusty.

"The pub got knocked down. He'd have been buried in rubble."

"What a way to go." muttered Handel.

"Isn't that how Duke said his mate Bertram died?" asked Rheneas.

"Probably." said Duncan. "The old bugger got so senile by the time he left half o' the crap that came out o' his mouth was complete bollocks."

The line to get in slowly progressed forwards. Donald, Douglas, Oliver, Toad and Duck walked (well, in Toad's case wheeled) out of the gates and past the Skarloey group.

"Aye, lads, do ye wan' to come with us?"

"Yeah, why not?" replied Skarloey, as the group got up from the bench and joined the other group, walking off in the direction of a large wooden rollercoaster.

"And that," said James, strutting out of the gates and into an open area to be followed by his friends, "is why I hate queueing!"

"James, I'm fairly sure you hate _everything_." muttered Gordon, scratching his cheek.

"Can we just stop bloody comlaining and get to a ride or something?" said Edward, pointing to the same large rollercoaster that Donald and Douglas had headed towards.

"I don't know, it looks quite-" started Percy, before being cut off by an impatient James.

"To hell with danger! Let's just go!"

"Seems like a good idea." said Toby.

"Anything's a good idea now that we're here." muttered Emily.

...

"Do you still hate queues, James?"

" _Yes, Thomas_. Does it look like I'm having a good time?"

James' face was etched with psychological pain and he looked ready to murder everybody in a five mile radius if given the weapons and a hazardous amount of alcohol.

"No, not really."

"Shut up, fatty. The only reason you're taking the piss is because you're scared of rollercoasters."

"I'm not!" Percy defended.

"You bloody well are!" said Thomas. "The last time we went to Alton Towers you came off Oblivion with piss dribbling down your leg!"

"That was a vertical drop!" said Percy, scowling.

"It only lasts a few seconds, mate!"

"Says the one who nearly shat himself on Thirteen."

Thomas dropped his smile and widened his eyes. "That stuff is downright scary. You screamed the loudest on the-"

"Lads, stops shouting at each other." said Toby, putting his hands on their shoulders. "James, stop muttering vulgarities under your breath, we're nearly there."

"We're not!" scoffed James. "You're nearly as senile as Eddie these days."

"I'm not senile!" called Edward, at the head of the group. "I'm only fifty-four!"

"If Edward isn't old and senile yet," said Toby, "then I most certainly am not."

"Toby," said James, "at least three people here saw you ogling young women when we went to Cornwall for that holiday a few years ago."

Toby turned bright red and immediately faced away before Percy jumped to his rescue.

"Hey, at least he isn't bent."

"Not like you, then." said Gordon.

"And even then," said Emily, "bein' straight ain't an excuse for being a perv."

There was an awkward silence, which was interrupted by a man with a wrinkle-lined face, probably from heroin, and a dark blue and yellow uniform, as the group had reached the front of the queue.

"Please keep all hands inside the vehicle and do not leave until the ride has stopped." he droned in an apathetic-sounding, monotone voice.

"Ey, Spamcan!" called Henry.

"Oh. Hello, Henry."

"Who's he?" asked Emily.

"Old friend. We used to be roommates."

"Why's he called Spamcan?" asked Toby.

"He ate a whole can of Spam in twelve seconds and then projectile vomited it up a minute later." Henry said proudly, recalling a cubic inch of pinkish liquid retching out of Spamcan's mouth and splattering against the floor.

"Sounds like something Percy would do." said Thomas, before promptly receiving a jab in the chest from the man in question.

"Oh," said Gordon, "I remember him!"

"Me too." said Edward. "Didn't you get evicted from your apartment after you got horribly, horribly drunk on the premises and Henry had to drive you to a hospital?"

"Yeah, I think that Henry told us that one time." agreed Percy.

"Anyway," Spamcan interrupted, "get on and sit down. These people get pretty irate if they have to wait in line for a while."

"Tell me about it." muttered Toby, glancing at Edward and James. The group of eight sat down, as Gordon and Henry nabbed the seats right at the front. James had to settle with Emily on the second row, while Edward and Toby took the third row. Percy, currently having surpassed white and bordering on green, resigned himself to his fate (at least, that's what he thought), and took the fourth row with Thomas.

The train of rollercoaster cars slowly jumped forwards and ascended up the incline, making a horrible clinking noise that sounded like bolts were falling off and making it a deathtrap. The train crested the summit and slowed for a second before letting gravity take its course, inching towards the drop.

"Ready, mate?" asked Thomas, turning to his terrified friend.

"Hell no."

 **Well, they got there. Somehow.**

 **Will Percy survive? Who knows!**


	6. Chapter 6

"Am I dead? Am I alive?"

"Percy, sit down for a minute." said Toby.

The group walked off the ride, or staggered in Percy's case, and dropped onto a picnic bench. He had thrown up for the third time that day, and by now he was feeling under the weather.

Of course nobody cared.

"Who says we go on that again?" said Gordon, looking up at the coaster's steep drops and twisting curves. It was made mostly of wood, half of which groaned under the weight of the cars and their passengers.

"Sod that!" cried James. "I'm not waiting in that massive queue again!"

"James," said Edward, rapping his fingers on the table, "I hope you realise the fact that there are a lot of queues here."

"Pfft," he scoffed, "that's hard to believe."

"No, it isn't." mumbled Percy. Despite his situation, he still had it in him to contradict James.

"Anyway," said Edward, "we've just been on a really high-octane ride, Percy feels like shit, Emily looks a little shaken too-"

"I'm fine, Eddie."

"-so why don't we try something a little calmer? Eh?"

"Look, we still have," Toby began, before checking his watch, "another six hours. We can still do more."

"I say we do something that involves," said Henry, rubbing his hands enthusiastically, "some competition."

...

"Bullseye!"

"Thomas, this isn't archery, it's a rifle range."

"So what, Toby? Maybe if you- oh, wait, you _haven't even hit the target!_ "

After scouring the park for something that a) wasn't too fast or chucked its riders about and b) had a small queue to shut James up, the group had settled on a small rifle range. It had air rifles that fired pellets instead of proper bullets, so nobody could get seriously hurt and end up with suing the park. The rifles were also chained down, so even if they really wanted to (which they did) nobody could pick up a gun and put James out of his misery.

"Do you want another go, guys?" asked a man in green. Bear, too, was an ex-SCL worker, but he resigned instead of being fired like the rest. For some reason, he also shared the trait of having strange nicknames; his was for apparently making strange growling noises during work.

"No, thank-" started Emily, before being rudely interrupted by James shouting " _Yes!_ " and slamming another three quid onto the counter.

"Calm down, James." said Edward, reluctantly opening his wallet and placing the coins on the counter.

"I might as well try." muttered Percy, by now recovered, as he rooted through his pocket and passed a lint-coated five-pound note to Bear.

"Lemme have a go!" said Henry, pulling open his wallet and thrusting three quid onto the counter.

"Alright," Bear began, "rack up two hundred points and you win a stuffed animal. Three hundred and you win the jar on the shelf." He pointed to a glass jar that sat atop a shelf, crammed to bursting with what looked like several hundred bags of Haribo. "You've got three minutes, guys." He glanced at his watch. "Aaand... go!"

Almost immediately, Percy cracked open his rifle and rammed a lead pellet into the chamber, snapped it back up and took aim. James loaded his almost as quickly, and Henry a second later. Edward fiddled with his rifle for several seconds, awkwardly poking the pellet into the slot. By the time he had closed his gun, Percy had already fired, as a metallic ping rang out.

"Fifty points!" he cried with joy. He pointed ecstatically at the target, which had a small hole right in the centre.

"Percy, mate, you're quite good at this!" said Thomas, who was leaning against a fence with his arms crossed.

"I know!" he replied. "I was in the army for a few years!"

"Someone clearly wasn't." muttered Gordon, jabbing his thumb in James' direction as the latter's shot went wide and embedded itself in the foam wall behind the targets.

"Piss!" cried Henry. As he pulled the trigger, the rifle jerked to the side and the pellet hit Edward's target instead of his.

"Cheers, Henry." said Edward under his breath, as he looked over his glasses and aimed his shot. Evidently he wasn't as incompetent with a rifle as James and Henry were, as his pellet struck just outside the centre of the target.

"Thirty seconds gone, guys." said Bear, just before another of Percy's shots hit the target. A chorus of swears erupted from James and Henry.

"Bingo." muttered Edward, as his shot garnered him another twenty-five points.

"Eddie," said Henry, who had zero points alongside James, "can you stop muttering things under your breath?"

"It helps me concentrate."

"Really? 'Cus it's putting me off."

"Two minutes left, guys!" repeated Bear. By now, Edward was in the lead with one hundred points, and Percy just behind him with ninety. James still had none, predictably, while Henry had struck it lucky and had gained a mere ten points from clipping the edge of his target.

"James," said Emily, "why do ya get a kick outta this if ya can't _hit_ anything?"

"I like shooting things."

"Because _that's_ not worrying in the slightest." muttered Thomas sarcastically.

"We ought to try paintball." said James.

"What, so everyone can aim for your crotch?" said Gordon.

"Shut it. It might be a little bonding experience, you know?"

"The only bonding I'll be doing is bonding your face to a sledgehammer." said Percy, before another shot rang out, followed by two more.

"That could be fun." mused Toby.

"What, paintball or attacking James with a hammer?" asked Henry.

"Paintball. I think there's a place on the mainland for it."

"One minute!" called Bear.

"James, mate, you're _crap_ at this." said Percy, squinting down the sights of his rifle.

"The only reason you're doing well is because your gluttony is motivating you to get the Haribo, fatass!"

"To hell with the Haribo! It's only to beat your smarmy arse!"

"Oh, here we go again." said Edward.

"You want to go, mate?" yelled James.

...

"To be frank, that was a complete waste of time and money."

"It's not that bad, Eddie." replied Percy cheerfully.

"We spent around fifty quid and nearly an hour." Percy had won the coveted Haribo jar in his frenzy to beat James (which he did. Even when worked up, he still sucks at hitting a target), while Edward had won a rather cute looking stuffed monkey. He had haphazardly shoved the monkey into his back pocket, and if it were to be stolen, it would be a less pressing concern than if James was killed by a hired assassin. Percy had emptied the contents of the jar into his bag, which weighed him down considerably.

"Ey, what's fifty quid when you're having fun?" said Emily.

"Still quite a lot of money."

"Aye, laddies!" yelled a thick Scottish accent. Donald and Douglas swaggered over, and they both clutched bottles filled with a suspicious liquid.

"Is that... whiskey?" asked Edward.

"Sure is!" said Donald, slurring his words slightly.

"Where did you get that?" asked Emily. "Also, can I have a bit?"

"Snuck it in. Sure ye can, lass!"

"For the love of God," said Toby, as Emily necked the bottle, "don't get drunk."

"What do ye mean?" asked Douglas, who belched mid-sentence. "I ain't drunk in tha slightest."

"Where's the rest?" asked James, looking behind the Scotsmen.

"Ditched 'em."

"Why?" said Henry. "Where are they?"

"On tha ghost train." said Donald, taking another drink from his bottle.

...

" _AAAAAAAHHH! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!_ " screamed Oliver. " _I'M GONNA DIE HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE!_ "

...

"Wouldn't Oliver be scared?" said Toby. "I mean, he nearly shat himself when he thought Toad drowned."

"Nah, I'm sure... he's... fine." stuttered Douglas. "He's not usually-"

"Right," snapped Edward, "no more whiskey for you." He grabbed the bottles and stuffed them into his bag, zipping it shut. Donald looked like he was about to cry, and Douglas looked as if his only child had been taken away from him.

"But... ye can't." the Scotsman whimpered.

"Look, if you get so drunk that you have to be escorted off the premises by the police, I don't want to be around to see it."

"Eddie has a point, you know." said Gordon.

"You can't talk!" said James, turning to his friend. "You once had to be picked up from a pub in Kirk Ronan because you got so tipsy."

"I can quite clearly remember _that not happening_." defended Gordon.

"Then how does that explain your passed out body sprawled on the sofa at home?" asked Henry, grinning.

"Look, that never happened and I know everything." He shot Henry the middle finger and turned back to Donald and Douglas. "We're taking away your precious alcohol because we don't want to share a bus home with a pair of drunkards."

"Why don't you have a Coke each?" said Percy, handing the cans to the Scotsmen. Donald cracked open the can and took a sip.

"You know, Douggie," he said, "I think that this stuff tastes better when you're drunk."

"I second that, lad." agreed his brother. The two walked off, cans in hand, and disappeared around a corner.

"Well," said Thomas, "what an unexpected turn of events."

"I'm not entirely sure that a drunk Donald and Douglas would qualify for 'unexpected', Thomas." said Edward.

"Anyway, let's get going." Thomas continued. He led the group around a corner, in the direction of a large stationary ride. Before he fully came around the corner, he turned to the rest of the group. "I say we go on that giant catapult thingy, the line doesn't look-"

"Hello, twinkletoes." came a familiar voice. Thomas turned around to face him.

"Oh, _fuck_."

 **Who is this man? Find out next time!**

 **(that's literally the most overused writing cliche of all time)**

 **genericuser22 out!**


	7. Chapter 7

The voice came from down a dark alleyway to the right of the path, and the rest of the group swung their heads and gathered around the alley's mouth.

"Twinkletoes?" asked Edward. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Afternoon, Brian." replied Thomas coldly, ignoring Edward. "Long time, no see, eh?"

"Indeed." Brian replied. "Oh, wow. Didn't know that you were mates with _two_ pensioners. Don't remember _her_ , either." he added, gesturing to Emily.

Before the group stood Brian, better known by his self-bestowed nickname of "Diesel 10". His head was topped with messy, sandy brown hair, and his face seemed to be set into a permanent snarl. He wore a stained, olive green shirt and frayed beige chinos, but perhaps his most distinctive feature was a prosthetic arm attached to the stump of his right arm. It, too, was painted in a striking two-tone olive and tan paintjob, and the tips of the fingers looked oddly rounded, as if they were hiding something.

He had been employed at SCL when the company was in its infancy, while Hatt was on holiday and Edward was away on company duties. A replacement for Hatt was drafted in from a sister company, who turned out to be an incompetent fool with an irritating American accent. Brian lasted a mere week before getting the sack, in which time he had managed to belittle the stronger employees and terrorize the weaker ones. He followed some of them home too, and on one occasion he rammed a lorry into the apartment complex where most of the SCL employees lived. His employment ended when Thomas, sick with him, pushed him out of a third floor window.

Now, though, he was a shadow of his former self. Ten years on, he had deep bags under his sunken eyes, and he had grown a noticeable amount of poorly-shaven stubble.

"Aye, I don't remember him, either." said Emily.

"You've no right to be around here, Brian!" shouted Toby, stepping forwards.

"Oh?" replied Brian, uneasily chuckling but with an edge of malice, "And what's an OAP like _you_ gonna do to me?"

Toby said nothing.

"Shut it, mate." growled Henry, rolling up a sleeve. Gordon joined him, clenching his fists.

Brian's hand snapped. The fingertips burst open, turning knife-like and transforming the hand into a clawed and very dangerous weapon. Gordon and Henry stepped back. "Do you really think that your puny little hands will do anything against _this?_ " he snarled, opening the hand and pointing all five drill-like fingers at the group.

There was a pause.

"That's the most clichéd thing I've ever heard." muttered James. Brian temporarily dropped the grimace, before glaring daggers once more.

"What is with the arm, anyway?" asked Edward.

"Oh, this?" Brian replied, grinning shakily and slowly walking towards him. "I lost my arm in a work-related accident. See, I used to work for a machinery company before joining your shitty office, and one day half of my arm was ripped off when a lathe malfunctioned." The group gasped. "Painful, I know. Anyway, I had this sweet little number fitted, from a backstreet dealer, and moved on to another place of work. Cue me joining your dead-end job." He grinned again, showing his crooked and yellowed teeth. "And I'm sure you know the story from there." Throughout this speech, Brian had started stuttering every now and then, and he was visibly sweating and shaking, along with smiling uneasily a lot more. Maybe it was because he was hounded down an alley with six vengeful former workmates guarding his only route of escape.

"I call it 'Pinchy'." he said, grinning again. "And it sort of has a mind of its own." As if on cue, the hand opened up and clenched shut in one swift, automatic movement.

Another pause.

"How have you not had that taken off you?" asked Toby, curious. Brian paused again.

"He was never like this, was he?" whispered Henry.

"Mm. I agree." replied Gordon. "He always was a bit of a psycho, but I can't remember him being this soft."

"Because... er... otherwise it's-" Brian began.

"Sod this," said James, "I'm going. I'm getting bored of talking to this mental case."

"Me too." agreed Thomas.

Brian widened his eyes. "What? Wait, wait, wait you can't go yet, I haven't finished-"

He stopped. The entire group, bar Toby who shot him a middle finger before leaving, had deserted. Sighing, Brian closed his prosthetic hand, the claws shooting back into the fingers. He looked back up at the alley mouth, before growling once more.

...

"What a tosser!" said James, walking brusquely away from the alley.

"Is it just me," mused Thomas, "or has Brian... _changed?_ "

"Who knows." replied Percy, taking a sip from a can of Coke. "He's probably been on heroin or something since we last saw him."

"Didn't he have those two bellends with him last time, too?" asked Toby.

"I think so." agreed Henry. "Can't remember their names, though. Both of 'em looked like druggies and smelt of piss."

"Oh, God, don't remind me of those!" groaned James. "I couldn't get the smell off my clothes after one of them sat next to me! I stank like a drunken hobo for a week!"

"But back to the question," resumed Thomas, "wouldn't you agree that Brian's, you know, changed?"

"Well," said Gordon, "he always was a bit off the chain, but it does seem he's gotten softer."

"He never acted that stressed." agreed Henry.

"But, last time he wasn't hounded down an alleyway." countered Toby.

"Eh," said Percy, "that's probably what ten years of surgery and hard drugs does to you."

"I would probably have acted the same way in that situa-" began Thomas.

"Look, let's stop arguing about this Brian bloke and actually do something." interrupted Edward.

"Is this just because you can't offer your own opinion?"

He paused.

"Yes."

...

"Rematch, fatty?"

"Bring it on, James." replied Percy, eyes narrowed. "I've humiliated you at a rifle range, now it's time to do the same with-"

"Lads, you do realise that this isn't even competitive?" asked Toby. The group had boarded a pirate ship-style ride that swung back and forth and was infamous for being coated in vomit half of the time it was operational.

"Shut it, Toby." said James, grinning. "We're just seeing who can last the longest before chucking it."

"Judging by how Percy's fared today, I think it's safe to assume that James will emerge as the victor." remarked Edward dryly, sitting next to Toby.

"James, you're about as yellow as Percy." said Thomas, sat a row behind Toby and Edward and alongside Emily.

"I was in the army, remember?" said James.

"What were you, a nurse?" Gordon said, snorting.

"No, I was in a tank crew! I fought in Afghanistan!"

"Doubt it." said Henry, who sat with Gordon towards the back. "Even if you're not bullshitting us, I'm guessing you were the radio operator since that's where all the cowards go."

"I was the driver!" yelled James as his voice started getting louder, still trying to hold onto what was left of his dignity.

"Have you seen Fury?" asked Thomas. "'Cause that Norman melt bears a striking resemblance to-"

" _I! WAS! IN! THE! ARMY!_ "

An awkward silence followed. Slowly, everyone else on the ride, including the operator, had turned and looked at James. Quiet mutterings were heard here and there, and the subject of said mutterings was now turning bright red.

"Can you keep it down a bit, mate?" called the operator. James gave him a sheepish grin and a half-arsed thumbs-up and turned around. Eventually, conversation resumed amongst the crowd as the entire group stared at James and grinned.

"Well, that didn't go very well, did it?" asked Percy innocently, not dropping the grin. James scowled and jabbed a finger at him.

"That was your fault, you know." he snarled.

"As if!" Thomas scoffed, smiling and narrowing his eyes at James.

"You provoked me into-"

James was interrupted by the operator stepping into a small cabin alongside the ride and starting it up. Buttons were pressed, and as he pushed forwards a small lever the ship jolted forwards.

"James!" hissed Emily. "You don' have your bloody lap bar down!"

"Don't need it." replied James, crossing his arms.

"Yes, you do!" said Edward. "As much as you get on our nerves, I'd hate to have you die here thanks to your own incompetence!"

"What, so you've nobody to take the piss out of?" asked Percy.

"Percy! Not now!" snapped Edward as the ride started to pick up speed. It slowed to a stop in mid-air, before gravity took her course and the ride dropped. As this happened, James gained air, significantly more than anyone else on the ride.

"Look, I'll be fine." he reassured. "This is a kiddy ride, anyway. Nobody can get hurt here."

"Yeah, if you had your lap bar down, you bellend!" shouted Toby. By now the ride had reached its top speed and approaching the peak of its swing.

"What's the worst that could happen?" said James, turning to him and surprised to see the whole group staring at him in horror. Emily clenched her lap bar and a distressed Percy grabbed onto the sides of the ride.

"What's wrong? I'm sure I'm going to-"

The ride stopped abruptly in mid-air, slowing down quicker than usual and eliciting gasps from the riders. It also launched James around ten feet into the air.

...

That day, someone said that you could have been in Australia and heard him screaming.

...

James continued screaming as he slammed back down into his seat. Unfortunately, his windmilling about while airborne altered his positioning and he landed on his arm. A sharp crack sounded as James screamed again, even louder than before.

" _STOP SCREAMING, FOR FUCK'S SAKE YOU PRISSY LITTLE-_ " yelled Edward, before being interrupted by James' foot connecting with his face. His glasses, shattered and bent, flew off his face as blood welled from his nose. His head was thrown back, and he lay slumped on his seat after being knocked cold (accidentally) by James' flailing.

" _It hurts! It hurts so much!_ " shrieked James, as tears rolled down his cheeks. Percy reluctantly tended to him, braving a punch to the face in an attempt to calm him down. Toby, who had been previously trained in first aid, turned to Edward and made sure that he wasn't dead.

Henry stood up in his seat the best he could and cupped his hands around his mouth, turning towards the ride's control cabin. " _OI! STOP THE RIDE!_ " The attendant looked up, probably from flicking through a decade-old copy of Playboy magazine. He saw two men, badly injured and for some reason covered in blood, and another man standing up and screaming. Through instinct, he grabbed the control lever and slammed it shut. The ride's brakes squealed, grinding it to a halt. Sparks showered from the top of the frame, and the whole ship shuddered as it decelerated. Eventually, the ride had stopped in a position where the bewildered passengers could get off, and a bloodied Thomas and Percy ferried James off. They awkwardly ran up the catwalk off the ride as Henry and Gordon followed seconds later, carrying an unconscious Edward, tailed by Toby and Emily.

"Get to first aid!" shouted Emily.

The group reached the path, sprinting away from the treadplate and weaving through the crowds. Struggling to keep up thanks to his frail physique and age, Toby brought his arm in front of him and checked his watch.

"Bloody hell, lads!" he yelled, barely audible under James screaming. "It's about eight o' clock! The buses'll be here soon!"

"Bollocks!" shouted Gordon, still carrying Edward.

"No, really!" Toby protested. "We've been here nearly six hours!"

"Do you reckon there'll be enough room on the buses for these two?" yelled Thomas, leading the group and by now panting heavily.

"Probably not!" replied Henry. "Call an ambulance or something!"

"Emily!" shouted Toby. "Dial 999! Quickly!" Emily whipped out her phone, struggling to punch in the numbers while running. The dial tone started ringing, but was cut short quicker than it usually would.

"Fuckin' hell!" the Scotswoman cursed, yelling at her phone.

"What's wrong?" asked Toby, nearly knocking over a group of children in an attempt to catch up with the rest. "Watch where you're going, you rowdy little shits!" he screamed, before repeating "What's wrong?"

"No signal!"

"Bugger!" yelled Toby, before pausing in thought. "Sod it, ask the bloke at the ticket desk to get an ambulance! We'll take the minibuses!"

"Then who'll drive?"

"Me! Gordon drives like a maniac, James' arm is broken, Edward's unconscious and the rest aren't even qualified!"

By now, the group had reached the park's front gates. Gordon and Henry, still with Edward, ran into the parking lot, with Toby and Emily close behind. Thomas stopped outside the ticket window and tapped on the glass.

"Hello, mate." he said to Smudger, who was still at his post. "Can you call for an ambulance?"

"'Course I can." He looked down at James, who was still screaming. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's broken his arm and he won't shut up." Smudger dialed 999, and the operator on the other end picked up within seconds. The operator's muffled speech filtered through the speech, to which Smudger replied "Ambulance, Knapford Heights Amusement Park."

"Cheers, mate!" said Thomas, picking James up again with Percy and carrying him into the parking lot. They ran through the entrance and out into the parking lot, where they saw a scene of utter pandemonium.

Donald and Douglas, still clutching their precious whisky bottles, were sprawled on the pavement and passed out, snoring softly. Toad sported several bruises and was bleeding profusely from his nose, while Oliver sat on the kerb, rocking back and forth and smiling a little too enthusiastically. Arthur limped away from the entrance, using a battered cricket bat as an improvised crutch. The entire Skarloey group were coated in what looked like chocolate sauce, but smelled eye-wateringly bad. Worse yet, there was no sign of any buses that should have arrived by now. Toby checked his watch again; it was eight o' clock on the dot.

Gordon and Henry set Edward carefully down on the pavement, while Thomas and Percy dumped James on a patch of grass. Toby ran over to Duck, who was one of the few competent people left who was actually able to speak coherently.

"What's happened? Why aren't the buses here?" Toby asked, breathless.

"Not here yet." replied Duck, strangely calm despite the carnage around him. "I'm guessing they're only about ten minutes late."

"I bloody hope so." muttered Toby. "We need to get James to hospital, and quick. We've called for an ambulance. I know he's a tosser, but we don't really want him to die right now."

Duck raised an eyebrow. "Really? How's he hurt?"

"He's broken his arm. No, I don't know how it happened, but he also managed to knock Edward out in the process." Toby answered. "What the hell happened to these lot?" he asked, jabbing his thumb towards the assembled crowd.

"The Scots somehow got hold of alcohol-" Duck began.

"How?" interrupted Toby. "Edward took two bottles of whisky off them."

"They're Donald and Douglas." replied Duck. "You _know_ they'd have backup. Anyway, they got horribly drunk," he resumed, pointing at their wasted bodies on the pavement, "and Toad was mistaken for a known paedo and beaten up." Duck pointed to Toad, before pointing over to Arthur. "Arthur was attacked by a group of kids-"

"What?"

"Amusing, I know." Duck brought out a can of Coke, cracked it open and took a sip.

"You're awfully calm about this."

"I know. I've seen all of this before."

"Where?"

"Before I joined the SCL team, I worked in a much bigger office in London. We had company outings like this once a month, and they always ended in disaster." Duck cleared his throat and pointed to the Skarloey group, all of whom looked very, very, very angry.

"The Welsh lot were on the rollercoaster when some fat bloke decided to have explosive diahrrea. All of them got coated in it."

Toby grimaced. "That would explain the murderous looks."

"Tell me about it." said Duck, shrugging and taking another sip from his can of Coke. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed, before widening his eyes and perking up.

"And here's the buses!" The sound of a poorly-maintained engine slowly became audible, and the procession of minibuses sputtered into the parking lot, with the lead one still missing a door. The bus in question rammed a bin, knocking it over, before coming to a stop. A short Irishman in pea-green stepped down from the driver's seat to inspect the damage.

"Luke, you pillock!" yelled Handel, still dripping with excrement, as the rest of the Welshmen ran over to the bus.

"It wasn't my fault!" defended Luke. "The brakes on this are crap!"

"Don't be so hard on him, Handel." said Skarloey.

"I agree, boyo. Luke's only had his driver's license for a year." agreed Rheneas.

"Come on, lads, let's just get on the buses and go home." yelled Toby, again standing upon his trusty stool. He stepped down and picked it up, placing it in the boot of one of the buses.

A siren sounded in the distance, gradually getting louder. An ambulance screamed into the parking lot, hastily braking to a halt. Two paramedics, one a middle-aged Hispanic and the other a freckled teenager, leapt out of the cab.

"Hello, my friend." said the Hispanic. "Where is the casualty?"

"Over there." replied Duck, pointing to James and taking another sip from the Coke can. The pair ran over to James with a stretcher, and moments later the casualty was in the ambulance. James' screaming could still be heard as it pulled away and sped out of the car park.

"Well, that happened." murmured Duck.

...

By now, the sun was beginning to set, leaving orange and pink streaks across the Sudrian sky.

Eventually, most of the buses had been filled and had left, and only the Tidmouth group's bus was yet to be filled. The fifteen passengers slowly got on, and Oliver was the first to embark.

"Christ, it still stinks in here!"

"It's been left in the sun for hours, what would you expect?" replied Thomas. Edward and Toad sat at the back, on account of the former being unconscious and the latter being disabled.

Unbeknownst to them, however, a figure had walked out of the park's gates, and slunk around the walls of the parking lot. He looked awfully familiar, and his right arm stood out like a sore thumb when compared to the rest of his physique. Still undetected by the group, he make a break for it and sprinted towards the bus as the passengers filed on.

Hearing heavy footsteps behind him, Toby, who was at the back of the queue to get on, turned around instinctively. He dodged out of the way, just in time to miss Brian swinging his prosthetic arm at him with the claws extended.

The rest of the group turned around as well, and Molly screamed. Brian swung again, this time aiming for Henry. He missed again, but this time the spikes dug into the side of the bus. The claws plunged in, and as Brian pulled his hand out a section of metal was ripped off. Donald and Douglas, easily the heaviest built behind Henry and Gordon, jumped out of the door and strode over to Brian. A tipsy Scotsman is far more dangerous than a sober Scotsman, particluarly if the Scotsmen in question are Donald and Douglas.

"Now, I dinnae what ye think ye're doin', but-"

Donald was cut off as Brian took another swing, this time almost grazing Gordon's skin. He threw the disembodied piece of bus at Douglas, who ducked, narrowly dodging it.

Henry threw a punch at Brian, slamming into his chest. He staggered back, but regained his posture and drew back his clawed hand once more. Fueled by adrenaline, he swung the claw around, but this time it connected. The spikes just grazed Donald's arm, sending blood onto the tarmac. The Scotsman screamed, clutching his arm in pain. Brian lunged forwards for another swing, but he was stopped short by Douglas. With a face of thunder, Douglas drew his fist back, and drove it squarely into Brian's face. His head shot back, and Gordon gave him another punch, this time in the stomach. Henry finished him off with a sharp, measured and hard kick in the groin for good measure. Brian staggered back, before dropping to the ground and clutching his private parts. The injured Donald spat on Brian, before turning and getting back on the bus with the others.

The engine started up, with Toby at the wheel and the passengers packed in. The headlights switched on, illuminating the ground before the bus in a harsh white light. It moved forwards, passing through the front gates of the parking lot, and the sound of the engine gradually got quieter as the bus sped away under the night sky.

Which promptly stopped as the bus broke down.

"Bugger!"

 **So here it is, the long-awaited finale to this theme park misery!**

 **I'm back! I'm not dead! Oh, joy of joys!**

 **genericuser22, out!**


End file.
